


What Friends Are For

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Love, M/M, Missing Harry, Romance, Worried Malfoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-06-04 07:14:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6647713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ron didn’t do the whole ‘emotions’ thing very well. He knew because Hermione was always telling him that “It’s like pulling teeth with you, honestly!” But really, this was just ridiculous.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Friends Are For

* * *

 

“Now what?”

Ron was trying not to panic. He knew now that it was down to him to think quickly, to be the brains of the operation, the unmoving wall. But the basement they’d just busted into was empty, and they were quickly running out of options.

He’d never seen Malfoy like this. The man had always been irritatingly cool and level-headed. His charismatic charm and clever persona had, admittedly, gotten the team out of sticky situations on more than one occasion in which brute force would have never stood a chance.

But _this_ … this wasn’t at all like the Malfoy he knew.

Ron would be the first to admit that he hadn’t always been the most observant of wizards - child or otherwise. But developing a working relationship with the man was an inevitability in this line of work if they ever wanted to be proper and sufficient partners. As such, he’d picked up on more quirks about Malfoy than he had ever wanted to know when he was just another boy at Hogwarts.

He knew that the faint twitch of a pale eyebrow meant that the other man was immovably agitated and about to do something drastic, so be prepared. He knew that a firm stance and folded arms indicated a stubborn and determined mindset, in which case he and anyone else on the receiving end of it might as well give in, as they weren’t going to win the argument.

And when stormy-grey eyes narrowed in the slightest of fashions that Ron didn’t even want to know how he managed to catch it, it meant that Malfoy was in an eternal debate with himself, which was never a good sign to the other two people working with him. If the man who always had a plan was having a quarrel with himself, then he must _not_ have a set arrangement that would get them out of whatever mess they happened to be in at the time. It also meant that now was not an acceptable time to lose his cool, as it might very well be down to him to figure out a strategy of coming out of the situation alive and in one piece.

But as Ron looked at Malfoy now, it was like the man he’d come to know had disappeared entirely, and in his place an unknown entity had materialized.

Malfoy was pacing back and forth along the wooded flooring of the smallish basement, eyes veering one way and then the other in constant intense concentration. His hand kept lifting to brush through his hair until it was a ruffled mess atop his head, and Ron’s had enough.

“Malfoy, stop!" 

The pacing halted abruptly, and Malfoy’s head turned to him, eyes wild. Ron was utterly bewildered by his altered temperament.

“Where is he, Weasley?” His demand was a harsh whisper, a last desperate plea, because it’s been _too long_ and they both knew it.

Harry Potter had been missing for two weeks.

Ron only needed to see the look on Malfoy’s face when he entered Head Auror, Smilten’s, office to know that something was terribly wrong.

Harry had been off on a private and individual assignment when his two Auror partners had been called into a briefing in the Head Auror’s office and been told of the recent development. Ron remembered his rage clear as day as much as he remembered Malfoy’s quiet professionalism and stoic gaze. He wondered where that man had gotten off to.

A rising potion’s dealer had Harry going in undercover to gain information that would possibly eliminate the threat. The mission was top-secret with only a select few ministry officials having any knowledge of it. Ron and Malfoy were not included.

And yet, now it was up to Ron and Malfoy to clean up the mess and, hopefully, find Harry in the process.

Ron could only shake his head at Malfoy’s question, because he _didn’t know_. The trail had led them to the cold basement of an ex-Quidditch player’s house, and Ron had determinedly not thought about what they were going to do next if Harry was not there.

He tried not thinking about, had started pushing it from his mind days ago, but now the thought was fighting its restrictions as Ron fought his despair. Hope was beginning to lose itself on him, because this was their last go-to. The clues had dried up and the trail had gone cold, and this was it. This was their last chance.

But _he wasn’t here_.

He startled at the sudden roar of rage that erupted from the blonde’s lips, frozen in place as a film of moisture took a place over the man’s eyes.

It was suddenly clear to him. Ron wondered why he hadn’t seen it before.

Despite the odds against it and despite past aggression, Malfoy had started to care for Harry as Harry started caring for Malfoy. It went deeper than that of friendship and camaraderie, the soft looks Malfoy threw Harry when he thought no one was looking… the way Harry inadvertently leaned into small, seemingly insignificant touches as if he didn’t realize he was even doing it.

For the first time in a ridiculous amount of time, Ron saw it for what it was.

Idiots in love.

The thought was lost on him when helplessness slapped him in the face, and with it came overbearing rage, pain, and misery. It swallowed him whole and refused to let go as he collapsed against the wall, sliding until he was sitting down with his knees pulled to his chest. His red Auror robes were pulled tight over his bent knees, on which he folded his arms and laid his forehead.

The red fabric reminded him that he was a _bloody Auror,_  for Merlin’s sake. This was his partner, his _best friend,_  at stake, and this was the last of what he was capable of doing? This was as far as his abilities could take him?

A high-pitched screech brought Malfoy to his knees while Ron clasped his hands over his ears and threw his head back.

The sound stopped as soon as it came, and the Aurors’ instincts kicked in, bringing them back to their feet, their wands clutched tightly in front of them.

Ron looked to Malfoy, who seemed to have regained control of himself, and he nodded in return in silent agreement. Ron led the way back up the staircase they’d just come down, trying to keep his movements quick and silent.

The noise came again, and this time Ron was slightly more prepared. They ducked their heads and clasped their hands to their ears until the sound stopped once more, taking more time to end than the last one.

The two continued their ascent, reaching the the top of the staircase. Ron stopped with his right shoulder pressed to the door, free hand on the doorknob. Malfoy pressed his left shoulder to the door, wand at the ready, before staring straight at him, nodding once.

There was a brief pause, and then Ron was turning the knob and bursting through the door with Malfoy right on his heels. Except, no one was there.

Ron and Malfoy looked at each other in confusion, before a green glow caught their eyes, turning their heads to, ironically, a cupboard under the stairs. A room that _most definitely_ had not been there when they’d first made a sweep of the house.

A bright green light shone through the crack on the bottom. They looked at each other once more before Malfoy strode over to the door and took hold of the handle. His eyes widened as Ron realized what he was about to do.

“ _Malfoy!_ ”

But it was too late.

He only had time to throw up shields around the both of them, and then a green radiance was filling the room they stood in for what could’ve been no more than a couple seconds. Then it disappeared completely with another high-pitched screech.

As Ron came to, he saw Malfoy already making his way into the cupboard. He hurried in after him, stopping in his tracks at the scene displayed before him.

Malfoy was on his knees beside an unconscious and decidedly shirtless Harry, bruised and bloodied, and Ron couldn’t help the wince that escaped his tightly-pulled lips at the sight of a ragged laceration down his left bicep. Blood caked the deep wound, and while Ron was no medi-witch, it definitely looked to be infected.

“Harry,” came a choked voice, and he watched as Malfoy brought the unconscious man’s head onto his lap, gently stroking the dirtied black curls. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m _so sorry_.”

Ron stared, absentmindedly casting his Patronus, requesting back-up and a Healer at their address on autopilot.

“You are _going_ to be okay, Harry. I promise you.”

He couldn’t stop staring at Malfoy as he mumbled to Harry, even though Ron was fairly sure the man couldn’t hear either of them.

He realized he probably should’ve been overwhelmed with a different array of emotions, but it was almost as if he’d been frozen in time. Numb. It was all so surreal.

Harry was placed into a private room at St. Mungos, and it was said that he would be able to pull through. Information he’d been able to retrieve was given to Aurors via Pensieve, and the potion’s dealers he’d been after were going to be put on trial, eventually to be thrown in Azkaban less they proved that they had useful information to share.

Ron visited Harry often with Hermione and his family, who were all so relieved to hear that their Harry was going to live to fight the bad guys another day. For this, he was grateful. 

And as for Malfoy… well, according to his connections, he’d shown up once or twice while he thought Harry was alone - which wasn’t very often. One time Ron was able to catch the tail end of their very short conversation.

“It’s good to have you back, Potter,” were Malfoy’s final words, stilted, muttered quietly.

He left without even a glance back, nodding once to Ron who waited outside the door holding a cup of tea, completely missing the hurt and confused look Harry sent after him.

But Harry, being Harry, brightened immediately when Ron re-entered the hospital room, pasting on a great big smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

It was then that Ron made the decision to intervene. He didn’t understand it, granted, but he couldn’t bear to see the look of hurt in his best friend’s eyes. And while he certainly wasn’t Malfoy’s biggest fan, he obviously meant a great deal to Harry, and that was all that Ron needed to know.

“So,” he started the next afternoon, walking onto the balcony that was placed on St. Mungos third floor. He leaned on the railing next to a brooding Malfoy, who gave him an irritated look in response to his efforts. “What’s it with you and Harry, anyway?”

No point in beating around the bush.

Malfoy looked at him with a raised brow. “What’re you going on about this time, Weasley?”

Ron was not impressed, and made sure that it showed. “You know, Malfoy, I’m not as big an idiot that you like to make me out to be.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

Ron’s large hand was suddenly slapped the metal railing, a ringing sound ricocheting through the air and startling Malfoy in the process. “Dammit to hell, Malfoy! This isn’t a bloody joke. I’m not an idiot, and I see the way that you look at Harry!”

The stormy-eyed glare was nothing new to Ron, but the words that came next had him backing away so fast, he almost tripped on his own two feet.

“He kissed me! _All right?_ Is that what you want to hear?" 

Ron gulped, trying to control all the thoughts and images the statement brought to his mind. Thoughts he really didn’t want to be thinking.

“Yeah, I guess.”

Silence.

Ron didn’t do the whole ‘emotions’ thing very well. He knew because Hermione was always telling him that “It’s like pulling teeth with you, honestly!” But really, this was just ridiculous.

“So, is that it?” 

“Is _what_ it, Weasley?”

Malfoy was still glaring, but not at him anymore. His spine was rigid, and the poor bird twittering along on the railing beside Malfoy really didn’t deserve his hateful gaze, in Ron’s opinion.

“Okay, Malfoy, he kissed you. I get it. _So what?_ ”

“So what?” The glare Malfoy turned on him was ten-fold that he’d given the stupid bird, and really, Ron didn’t think that was fair. “ _So what?_ Here’s what, _Weasley_ .” He spit his surname like it was a bad taste in his mouth, which probably wasn’t really all that far off. “He kissed me. Then he was gone, and I hated him. Then he was _really_ gone, and I hated myself. And then I couldn’t find him, _we_ couldn’t find him, and I thought it was over. But then he was there, and…!" 

Ron had never seen the man so flustered and at a loss for words.

“It just… It doesn’t work, Weasley! Feelings for a partner, even friendship, in this line of work… It just leads to disaster. _All right?_ I can’t… I can’t do affection.”

Ron stared at him, unblinking. “Really, Malfoy? You basically had a break down when you thought it was hopeless and we wouldn’t find Harry. Then you waltzed into a room _that was glowing. Green._ ”

Malfoy stared, and blinked once. Then, “See? That’s my point. These feelings make people do really, really _stupid_ things. It’s better this way! It’s… uncomplicated,” he finished weakly.

“I see,” said Ron slowly. Quietly. It was then Malfoy appeared to realize his mistake, but it was Ron’s turn to talk. “So, what? Harry’s just a complication to you, is he? If that’s what _he_ is to you, I can’t even imagine what _I_ am." 

It looked like Malfoy was trying to speak up, but Ron was glaring now. He shut his mouth.

“You know what, Malfoy? If that’s all we are to you, I don’t see why you’re even still bloody well here. I can clearly see how much you dislike me, and if Harry’s such a complication to your perfectly sculpted life, why don’t you just _leave?_ ”

Ron twirled on his heel leaving the last of his words to float in the air behind him.

“Weasley, wait!”

He ignored him.

“ _Ron!_ ”

The sound of his first name made his next step hesitate slightly, but he didn’t stop. He wouldn’t give the bastard the satisfaction.

Ron could later be found beside a sleeping Harry in an incredibly uncomfortable chair that he had tried charming a dozen times now, though they never seemed to stick. Damn stubborn thing. He wondered who that reminded him of.

He nearly decapitated Malfoy as he suddenly made an appearance in the room, his hands held up in surrender.

“Weasley.”

Ron merely raised a bushy eyebrow.

" _Ron_ ,” he said slower.

Ron sniffed, but lowered his wand, a bit weirded out at his first name coming from the lips of a Malfoy. He hadn’t quite decided whether he could learn to accept it, or not.

“Look,” he continued, leaning against the far wall with his hands tucked in his robe pockets, away from Ron. Smart move. “I’m sorry about what I said.” 

Ron cocked his head to one side, but refused to make a sound.

“I don’t… dislike you.” It seemed to Ron like an incredibly hard thing to admit. “You are a very… respectable Auror. And I am fortunate to have you as one of my partners. And I certainly don’t view Harry as a _complication_.” He looked at the man sleeping on the hospital bed now, the fondness displayed clearly in his grey eyes taking Ron’s breath away.

So weird. So, _so_ weird.

Ron just made a sound of acknowledgement to show he’d heard him. 

Malfoy swallowed. “So, can I stay?”

Ron stared, not sure why exactly why Malfoy was asking _him_ , but taking the responsibility anyway. He freely admitted to liking the power he held over Malfoy in that moment.

“I guess,” he finally relented. “As long as you're still here when he wakes up.”

Malfoy stared at him. Then nodded slowly.

The next day, when Ron went to visit Harry with a cup of tea in hand, he stopped just outside the door when he heard voices.

He knew he shouldn’t eavesdrop, but really, after everything that happened, he didn’t really care anymore. The two voices he heard belonged to those of his partners in crime… Well, his partners that fought crime. 

He couldn’t hear everything, just muffled voices that were separated from him by a closed door. But he did catch a word that sounded a lot like _‘love’_ and then a choked _‘Draco’_ and, really, that was all he needed, and wanted, to hear, before he was walking away to give the two men some privacy. He sipped at the tea he'd brought for Harry, whistling along the way. 

At home, he sat smiling at the kitchen table as Hermione badgered him on what he was so happy about, simultaneously eating her own dinner and marking up and making notes on very important looking ministry papers.

Ron just shook his head though, and grinned even wider. His friends - yes, _plural_ \- were happy and in love, he was happy and very much in love, and life was good.

Honestly, he couldn’t wait for their next adventure. Maybe Malfoy would disappear this time.

He laughed, and really should've felt guilty about it. But, alas, he didn't. Because he knew they'd find him, eventually.

That's what friends - and partners - were for, right?

* * *

 


End file.
